


Unravel - a gift fic for a friend

by Darkdorkchan (Raburabusama)



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: F/M, Groping, Kimono, Kissing, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raburabusama/pseuds/Darkdorkchan
Summary: This is a gift I wrote for my dear friend Eru, the fic is basically about her OC but since it is written in you form I hope it is enjoyable to others too UwU The M/C has been on an undercover mission as an oiran's apprentice for weeks and her night is thrown into chaos as a certain Okita Souji is the one come to gather her reports...
Relationships: Okita Souji (Hakuouki)/Reader
Kudos: 26





	Unravel - a gift fic for a friend

The sound of merrymaking filled the dim, cedar wood floored hallways, and the only light was the golden glow of candlelight filtering through paper shouji. Somewhere further up a shamisen was being played, elsewhere rambunctious male voices demanded more sake.

You had grown rather accustomed of the nocturnal life of the Utanami house of pleasure tucked in snugly in one of the quieter streets of Shimabara. It was also rumoured to be a favoured haunt of some higher ranking Choushuu warriors and their sympathisers, which was the reason you had ended up here in the first place: to gather intel on their plans, movements in Kyouto.

Growing accustomed was completely different from enjoying, of course. Being an apprentice courtesan, even a fake one, was back breaking work, even when your main duty was to be the background against which your oiran could shine all the brighter, and well, carrying a lot of stuff to and fro. Not to mention pouring endless cups of sake while gently tittering to the jokes of men from coarse country samurai to wasp tongued court officials. Regardless of status it was amazing what these red faced oafs let slip when you gave them enough drink and flattering smiles, sometimes you felt as if they didn’t think you had ears at all.

Too bad this week had been slow, not with the amount of customers, as your oiran Wakakusa had more eager admirers than she could ever hope to entertain, but more in the quality of them. Choushuu rebels had lain low for some reason or the other. It was unnerving as you had no way of knowing if it was sign of something about to go down in Kyouto or not. 

Worse was how this lack of meaningful customers was leaving you bored, and being bored meant your mind had the opportunity to wander. Like, to the fact you had been here for three weeks already, and that you had only seen Yamazaki twice during that time, no one else from the compound. You missed them all, but one annoying selfcentered little prick you missed very keenly. Though, you’d die before you’d let anyone know that, especially him. He’d never let you forget it if you did. Vividly green eyes filled with mischief flashed before your mind’s eye for an instant; with it a nasty hollowness filled you.

“Ko-ume, quickly now, Ko-ume!” Hanano, one of the girls serving under your oiran hissed to you from farther down the hall. It took you a while to register the fake name you had taken to blend in the staff of Utanami, you jolted awake from your reverie. In your introspection you had fallen behind of the entourage on their way to a garden side room to welcome one of the imperial officials that was courting the favour of Wakakusa. He was about as boring of a man as a courtly bureaucrat could ever get, and utterly useless to your mission, too.  
“I’m sorry!” you whispered back hurrying after her, the heavy layers of gold embroidered silks rustling as you did your best to keep your gait as elegant as possible. 

Several excruciating hours later you were finally excused of waiting upon Wakakusa as she deemed the official worthy of time alone with her. You couldn’t help but to let out a long sigh of relief as you let the tension finally drain from your shoulders making your way to the small bedroom you had been given. Finally alone, accompanied by nothing but a small paper lantern and your restless thoughts.

A half moon cast its cold light upon the rather big garden Utanami was famous for, the rays reflecting upon the gently waving waters of the central pond fed by a meandering little stream. It was a scene tranquil enough to help drown out the racket of merrymaking and the sighs of passion very audible from the other rooms. You might not ever get used to the latter, though, you thought as the sounds made a hotness creep onto your cheeks.

You tried to ignore them and the beauty of the scene before you as it only served to heighten your sense of solitude. At least Yamazaki should be arriving tonight or tomorrow at the latest now to gather the weekly report of your findings, as short and disappointing it inevitably would be.  
Maybe you could glean some news of the comings and goings of the Shinsengumi while he was there. Getting any information out of the terse and taciturn man was always a challenge, but you were getting a bit antsy yourself so it would be worth the effort. 

Your room was at the very tail end of the whole compound of Utanami, making it easier to sneak into during the wee hours of the night when most of the other residents were busy with their work, or sleeping if not. Yamazaki was always polite enough to wait in the garden for your arrival to announce himself before you went in. This politeness had made your senses slacken a bit, you noticed, as you jolted in surprise while sliding the shouji of your room open.

Someone was inside.

Instantly a small throwing knife you kept hidden in your sleeve was in your hand and you dropped into a fighting stance, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. It could already be too late by then, though, the occupant could very well be flicking a poisoned needle at you in this split instant it had taken you to notice them.

“The lady of the night finally returns to her quarters, aa-a, took you long enough,” a lazy, and all too familiar, voice drifted out of the darkness of your room. Only barely were you able to keep your composure and not scream out his name in a mix of fury and embarrassment. Instead, with all the coolness of freshly fallen snow you stepped into your room, setting the small paper lantern upon the tatami to regard 1st division captain Okita Souji in the eye as levelheadedly as you could muster.

He was sitting up on the tatami – no your futon! Belatedly you remembered the chaos you had had to left your quarters in as Wakakusa’s first customer came over an hour earlier than you thought, forcing you to bolt out of your room in such a haste you hadn’t even had the time to fold away your bed. Fighting a grimace you swallowed down your mortification as Okita nimbly got to his feet having clearly spent the time waiting for you by napping. On your bed. 

To your surprise instead of another quip his eyes widened as the lamp illuminated the tiny room and you. He let out the tiniest gasp. It threw you off your pace and made you suddenly very conscious of yourself.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded from Okita, keeping your voice a low whisper lest the other apprentices, who might be sleeping just a few sheets of paper away from your room, wake. Luckily the quiet ripple of the stream helped to drown out clandestine voices.

For a moment Okita was silent, making the heavy layers of the opulent kimono you were wearing feel like they got thrice heavier in that instant. Not to mention the long tortoise shell kanzashi and combs arranged in your hair. You had no choice but to step in and shut the shouji behind you in fear of some random passerby stopping to wonder why you were hovering at the doorstep.

“What a terse welcome from a lady of the finest entertainment of Shimabara.” Okita managed to sound ever so offended, and you – barely – managed to not flick the knife at his face, just to let him not see how rattled his presence in your room made you. Your heart was racing, and not only from the adrenaline of being surprised!

“No reason to keep up the charade to a no-pay, non-customer, ne?” you shot right back at him, flashing the sweetest smile of this whole evening to Okita, you even tilted your head ever so elegantly and hid your curving lips behind a glimmering sleeve. Okita let a bit of a scowl shadow the corners of his mouth at that. It made your traitorous heart skip a beat, was he really looking this uncomfortable with… with what exactly? You? This heavy kimono with the obi tied so blatantly on the front? The casually flirtatious lilt of your voice?

Narrowing his eyes, Okita padded towards you with the predatory laziness of a cat. You refused to budge, not that you had any room to escape either with the shouji nearly brushing the back of your kimono.

“Would a few ryou thaw the icy hearted courtesan? Or should I cite a poem, perhaps? I do know quite a few very entertaining ones,” his voice was mocking mixed with honeyed allure. It came closer with each syllable dropping from his mouth, until he was right next to you. He leaned in closer to whisper a bit too near your ear while his fingers brushed the kanzashi adorning your hair.  
The kimono was no longer only heavy, it felt suffocatingly hot. You felt an unacceptable redness try to creep up from under your collar, especially when Okita’s breath brushed gently, like a fluttering of moth’s wings, against the nape of your neck so amply revealed by the generous collar. Instinctively you shirked away from that sensation, it was quite impossible to handle. Internally you cursed the impractical kimono the oiran wore, leaving you thus hindered and exposed at the same time, while you realised you had not snapped back at Okita’s taunt at all …and you had slinked away from him like some scaredy cat instead, this would not do.

“Maybe this fair maiden’s heart is not for sale at all?” you finally tried to smirk at him, looking over your shoulder as Okita had been trying to sneak behind you. It made him scoff, even as he allowed you to turn back around to face him.

“Fair? Maiden? What, where?” Okita’s eyes glimmered with mirth as he assessed you again, “Though, I have to admit that dress might make a lady even out of a pipsqueak like you.” 

He was close enough for you to inhale his scent, the one you had been forced to do without for weeks now. You felt his warmth even through the layers upon layers of your kimono. Or maybe it was just a feverish delusion from your part. It made your heart race nevertheless, and you hated it, hated the fluttering, ghosting feel inside you his vicinity alone was causing. He was not even supposed to be here.

“Shut up.” you closed your eyes to gather your scattered wits, you could not allow this man get beneath your skin so easily, you were a _professional._ Not some tittering maiden prone to swooning when she caught so much as a glimpse of her beau.

“Oh, seal my lips she says,” his voice was nothing but teasing and mirth, the tone precariously low. Your eyes shot open at that, wide with disbelief. His green ones were much too close, you noticed as he was looking down upon you, tall as he was.

“There’re ways to achieve that, ne?” The last word he practically breathed against your red painted lips, and you realised you had leant towards him, closer with each word. He had lured you out like prey.

“Looks like you had an idea?” he laughed, pressing his forefinger to your chin and gently pushing you away, it was enough to tilt you entirely off balance. Fury roused within you like a flame licking fresh kindling, _that motherfucker_! For a second you didn’t even know what to say, fuming under his gaze. His expression was unreadable, dangerously so, he was infuriatingly hard to read on a good day and this was not one of those. Worse, he was way too close still.

“The only ideas here are your own delusions!” you scoffed, trying to regain that icy coolness you had so recently possessed.

“I’m glad you’ve not lost a smidgen of your charm!” Okita laughed under his breath, sounding somehow very relieved, “I’m sure the customers are all mad about you, ne?”

You were stepping away from him, as far as you could go in the tiny room while avoiding stepping on your futon. 

“You bet. I’ll give you the report so you can leave.”

Okita’s hand was on your arm, pulling you around as you had tried to give him a cold shoulder. He wasn’t rough but he was firm.

“No need to be so hasty, my lady of the night,” he smiled bowing just a bit. His sword calloused fingertips traced the embroidery on your sleeve, up to the collar of your kimono, ghosting further up the side of your neck when the expensive silk ended.

“I’ve never seen you with so much makeup on,” he continued, sounding suddenly and alarmingly sincere, fingers caressing your cheek. You were grateful for the heavy layer of paint hiding the blush spreading on your face, “even if I probably prefer you without it, it’s still… nice.”

Not breaking eye contact his soft lips brushed your own, this time for real. Your mind went utterly blank for an instant because this certainly could not be happening. Yet, somehow your hands were suddenly on his shoulders seeking purchase on the shimmering brown haori of his. Okita’s own hand snaked around your shoulders to bring you closer, the huge knot of your obi crushing between you, forming a lump that kept you separated. Your irritation with the impossible kimono flared to all new levels, yet he was able to deepen the kiss you shared, it was dizzying. You didn’t want to believe it, was he drunk? Had you maybe eaten some poisoned rice and died? 

Okita’s other hand found its way to the nape of your neck, gently caressing your skin with warm fingers. They invited you to lean back into their touch and let out a tiny gasp, an opening he wasted no time exploiting. The tip of his tongue traced your lower lip, slipping between both of them sly and sleek like a thief in the night. 

Without thinking you were kissing him back, pulling closer still, boldly running your fingers through the loose hair at the nape of his neck, then higher to his topknot. Letting out a pleased little sound he gently bit down on your painted lower lip. That made you jolt and push him away. 

Swallowing around a lump the size of an apple you whispered, “How drunk are you?” 

Your hands refused to let go of his kimono collar, though, nor where his hands apparently going anywhere either. He pressed his face gently to the top of your head, into the kanzashi and the scented oils that had been used to tame your hair into an elegant arrangement you were not sure what to even call.  
“Not drunk at all,” he said, taking a deep breath, “and it was Hijikata-san who sent me here. To mess with me, I’m sure.”

You buried your face into his chest not caring the least bit if your heavy makeup would stain his haori. You couldn’t handle looking him in the eye just now, just the beat of his heart against your cheek was enough to send you swirling into delirium, his arms enveloping around you made it not one bit easier to bear.

“I think I’m very messed with right now,” he laughed again, pulling you out of your hiding, evil smile widening to a grin. You felt like fainting, and the crushingly tight obi was not helping.

“I always forget you’re even a girl,” he teased, taking you by the chin as you tried to avoid his gaze.

“You’re seriously begging to get stabbed right now,” you mustered all the menace you possibly could to your voice but it didn’t make his smile falter at all.

“Just like that, no one could ever mistake you for a lady. If it weren’t for all this,” his hand was on the knot, pulling sideways, trying to get it out of the way. 

“Nee… We did it once already, so it won’t hurt doing it again?” Okita whined sounding very smug indeed, especially after you chortled at his words, almost swallowing your own tongue.

“Don’t– say it like that!” you hissed, barely keeping your voice low enough to hopefully not be audible across the whole house. Okita just chuckled and pressed his lips again to yours, tugging doggedly at the unnecessarily complicated knot.

You’d be lying, and everyone would know you were, if you claimed you didn’t want to kiss him again. You had missed Okita even as you had accepted your mission and the separation it inevitably would bring along with it. You had not expected to feel it quite so keenly as you had, especially when there was really nothing but teasing and insults going on between the two of you. Or so you had thought, gasping into Okita’s lips again as he pulled you closer the obi now less in the way than before.

He didn’t stop there but pushed you a step deeper into the room, on top of your futon, sending your head spinning with all the implications as you let his tongue in to caress yours again. He tasted sweet, and his touch was soft, your long sleeves fell like heavy curtains around Okita’s shoulders as you ran your fingers again in his hair. He smelled arousing, and so much like home it was terrifying but you didn’t want to let go of it, of him, or this warmth he gave you.  
Another tiny step back he pushed you, your shadows danced on the walls. With an undignified yelp from your part he swept you off your feet quick like a swooping hawk striking its prey, and you were a ball of silk in his arms, trapped. Gently he lowered himself on the futon cover, taking you down with him.

“S-souji–!”

“Shush, have to lay low, so no one sees us,” he snickered, not letting you go. Your heart was galloping mad, feeling like it would break free from your chest any second now. It was throbbing not only from fear but from a bewildering anticipation, too. He laid another kiss on your lips to hamper any further objections. Quickly any of such you might’ve been entertaining vanished from your head as his heat seeped into you, spreading like sweet madness.  
“I’m sure all these layers of kimono and the combs in your hair are tiresome,” he whispered finally when he broke away from you a thin breath’s width, his sneaky fingers were already tugging at the tortoise shell ornaments arranged into your hair.

Your reply was a squeak halfway between mortification and an affirmative. Yes, they were incredibly heavy and your scalp ached from bearing their weight for hours again tonight, you wanted to tell him, but at the same time the connotations of his entirely unvirtuous suggestion swirled in your head. They made it impossible for you to just blurt out an okay for him, no matter the fact that you were half on his lap, on top of your futon, the ample collar of your furisode already slipping out of its place to reveal much too wide a slice of your shoulder.

Okita’s sharp eyes had not let that slip, your squeak warped into a moan as lips found the vulnerable skin on your collarbone and you felt the first kanzashi slip away from your hair. Your hands tightened around his shoulders, desperately trying to decide whether to pull him closer or try to push him away as you tried to kick your kimono hem open to free your legs from its confines. You were much too trapped in the young captain’s arms like this, like a damsel really, melting totally when his playful teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin at the crook of your neck. You let out another barely stifled moan, skin, no your entire spine, tingling with the sensation.

“Felt that?” he chuckled against the rapid pulse on your neck, placing another lingering kiss there, another kanzashi slid out of the intricate hairdo, which started to droop.

“Nno.” you tried to taunt him, the plan backfiring deliciously as Okita sank his teeth into your tender flesh. Squirming in his arms you bit your lip to keep another desperate sound you wanted to make from escaping. Kanzashi after another was eased free from your hair, and in no time at all the whole arrangement tumbled free, combs and pins scattering behind you on the futon cover.

“Souji! S-souji!” your voice faltered as the merciless man kept on assaulting your agitated flesh, bending you lower until you felt the futon press against your back. A fresh hotness washed over you, it was a tingling blush that overwhelmed all of your senses, the sudden and quite tangible weight of his body being the thing that threatened to black out your vision altogether. Okita was between you legs, belatedly you realised. How had he managed to sneak in there? Had you not so acutely wanted him there it would’ve been incredibly distressing, he was making wordless questioning noises at the back of his throat while he kept nipping and sucking your throat with too much force for your, and his, good.

“Souji, no marks!” you finally managed to hiss, sounding so out of breath, and needy, you wanted to bury yourself beneath the futon and die.

Finally he gave you mercy, lifting himself up enough to look into your eyes, and you realised it was cruelty not mercy as you felt his mirthful green gaze pin and paralyze you there. Swallowing hard you tried to avert your eyes, feeling hot and dizzy. His palm was instantaneously pressing into your cheek gently, halting your attempted evasion.

“Why?” he demanded.

“T-the,” and you had to swallow again as Okita _moved_ against you, or more like on top of you, shooting another jolt of embarrassing arousal coursing through you, “the customers–”

“Screw them,” Okita answered trying to dip back down, nudging your collar lower still. Your desperate hands wound into his hair, trying to keep him in check.

“You’re blowing my cover,” you were desperate. What had gotten into him suddenly? Okita’s only reply was a noncommittal grunt as he broke free from your hold, weak with the hindering sleeves weighing your arms down. You were deathly afraid of tearing a seam on them, so you had to play nice.

Then it struck you; _was he jealous_? Of you here, far away and surrounded by lecherous old men? You could scarcely believe it, but what else could this all be? A ridiculous, giddy warmth spread within you. Then your thoughts scattered again like smoke into the wind as Okita’s wandering lips went lower, placing heated kisses onto your skin wherever he could reach.

His hands roamed down your sides until they reached the hem of your kimono. You let out a startled moan as Okita’s palm slid against the feverishly hot skin of your thighs, going higher without a hint of hesitation. They left behind it a trail burning hotter than a furnace, you were sure your sanity would burnt to cinders if this kept up, but you leaned into that touch, spreading yourself open to invite him deeper against you, no matter how insane this all was. He moaned against your skin in appreciation of your boldness, and the sound grew louder as you smoothed your hands over his shoulders to mirror his actions. Oh, how you had wanted to feel the wideness of his shoulders against your hands and the heat of his bared skin in the most secret chambers of your mind, never admitting these fantasies properly even to yourself until now. And how much more exhilarating the reality was compared to the secrecy of your thoughts. Okita’s collar was always so loose to begin with, the slippery silk slid from his shoulders with nigh obscene eagerness. 

He sighed your name against the rapid pulse of your racing heart placing another openmouthed kiss there, at the edge of your collar, drawn as far as it could possibly go with the obi still in the way.

“Souji,” you whispered, voice gone from the panic of only a few moments ago to one warped with quivering eagerness. It got Okita’s attention. As he lifted his face you caught his lips into a long, tender kiss, trying to send all your unspeakable emotions to him through it. His heat soaked into you, through all the layers of silk and cloth-of-gold, you gasped as you felt his hardening lust press against your thigh. Instinctively you squirmed, and the sharp hiss of his breath against your lips at that was maybe the most erotic thing you had ever heard from his mouth, as was they way his eyes fluttered shut and brow scrunched up just a bit.

Swallowing hard he whispered finally, “Ne, untie this monstrosity, will you?” while yanking irritably at the knot still separating the two of you. 

The words sealed this deal written in madness. He lifted his weight enough for you to get up, but only enough to tug awkwardly at the artfully arranged cloth, while Okita himself was placing light, teasing kisses against your neck, ears, cheeks, everywhere where he could reach. It only incited the turmoil within you to all new levels with each featherlike touch, ripping away the last shreds of your reason. The fact that you were actually, _really_ , doing this echoed in your skull, its cacophony growing louder with each passing moment, with each little touch he gave you.

Finally the knot came loose, the glimmering fabric unraveling, much longer than he had apparently been expecting, it was not to be discarded just so. Okita growled jerking at the fabric, but he sounded more amused than angry, opting to pull you suddenly to him while he leaned back into the futon.  
A squeal accompanied you as you landed on top of him, expensive silk unraveling all around you as the kimono you wore came looser.

“That’s good,” he murmured, with an urgency in his voice that made your inside squeeze tighter with need. His fingertips were brushed against your arms pushing the fabric lower, pulling you down to taste your skin again. Until he realised beneath your obi was another, albeit smaller sash, still snugly tied.

“Why are these things so stupidly complicated!” clawing at the ends of the knotted sash he exclaimed, more to himself than to you. Nevertheless it filled your heart with another sort of glee, for it reminded you of how little experience Okita actually had with these insidiously complicated feminine dresses.

This knot was much simpler to unravel, you felt the it loosen in a flash. Fingers still busy with gathering the obtrusive cloth his questing lips found the edge of the bindage tied around your chest. You still wore out of habit, even when you were masquerading as one of the playful women of Shimabara. As his teeth tugged the white fabric your vision went hot white with titillation. Brokenly you moaned his name, tumbling down on top him, wanting to kiss him more than anything, but as his face was buried in your chest it was impossible. You had to make do with dragging his hair free from the top knot in retaliation.

Okita was not one to be defeated so easily, his palms swished over the folds of your kimono to dive beneath them and then languidly they rubbed up on your legs, utterly shameless. All too quickly, before you had time to truly panic about it, they reached your hips where his strong fingers, accustomed to gripping the hilt of a blade, grabbed onto you and pulled you down hard against him. The exhilaration that had been tingling within your hips burst suddenly, bright like a blast of fireworks exploding, as you felt Okita’s hardness press against your own agitated flesh, deep between your thighs. The overwhelming thrill tore a much too loud a moan out of you, one that you tried to muffle desperately into Okita’s disheveled hair, panting out his name a few times too many for your good. Luckily, he seemed to be similarly affected, gone was the teasing mockery at last as he praised you with gasps of his own. The knowledge that you, and no one else in this world, was the reason for his agitation was intoxicating.

“Ko-ume!” the dry whisper of silk on wood accompanied the sudden sound that yanked you out of the hot haze you had fallen into. Letting out but a tiny eep of terror you pushed yourself clean off from Okita, rolling him over and trying to throw your futon cover on top of him in the desperate hope it’d conceal him if Hanano, the one calling you, would she decide to come in. 

“Ko-ume!” her voice was low but audible. Hastily you pulled your collar to something a bit more presentable even as the loosened layers of kimono were untangling all around you. While at it you gave the sternest sideways glance of your life to Okita who was peeking from behind the cover.

“Yes, Hanano, I’m here,” you tried your best to sound utterly innocent and hopefully a bit groggy, even if you lantern was still a dead give away that you were not in fact sleeping at all.

“What’s the matter?” with a little trepidation you continued, her calling upon your door at this hour had to mean something was amiss.

Instead of answering she let out a little giggle, to your confusion. It did little to help the panicked hammering of your heart, quietly you spread your hems as wide as possible to conceal your secret visitor.

“The man, can you believe it,” she laughed again trying to keep her voice low, “he was so nervous he couldn’t get it up at all! So, he just left! Can you imagine!” Hanano was leaning to the frame of your shouji. You could see the faint outline of her silhouette shaking with suppressed laughter. You had probably laughed too had you not just a few seconds ago been in such close contact with a male who definitely had no such problems.

“That’s, uh, unfortunate,” you managed, not sure anymore about how you should go about sounding. You were even less sure of how this all tied to you, either.

“Haha! Very!” Hanano replied, “Wakakusa wants us all to share the leftover sake together, there’s a lot of it.”

“I-I already undid my hair and furisode,” hastily you tried to dodge the invitation.

“Oh, there’s no more men so it is fine! Throw on a yukata.” Hanano was insistent, and with a sinking feeling to your stomach you knew why, yet you tried once more.

“I–”

“Ko-ume, she ordered I get you,” the finality of her voice destroyed any further argument you were trying to cook up. 

Swallowing hard you nodded, “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You better!” Hanano giggled and you heard her kimono rustle away as she eagerly returned to her mistress. You knew she’d be back and not happy about it if you didn’t show up soon after.

Feeling a headache building behind your eyes your shut them and tried to gather your scattered wits. You felt the intense stare of the reason behind this particular headache peeking from behind your futon and just now you really didn’t want to look him in the eye. It was too embarrassing. The way you had been, and – you felt a hot gush of arousal wash over you as the events of a few moments before replayed in your mind – the way he had been was just… unbearable. A silence lingered between you for a while, neither of you eager to be the first to break it, until you had to.

“The report, a second.” On your knees you scooted over to the sole table of your room spattered with scattered boxes of makeup, brushes, hair ornaments and the like. Next to it was a disorganised pile of books, sheets of paper and letters. It all looked very innocent, just like the worktable of an apprentice courtesan should. You took out one of the picture books in the pile, one with a false cover, where you hid your reports between the loose sheets of the cover paper.

“Here,” you said, offering the slip of paper to Okita, finding yourself still quite unable to look him in the eyes.

“Thanks,” was all he said in return, the bashfulness of his tone was startling. Despite yourself your gaze followed his voice. He looked just a bit sheepish, tangled in your futon and surrounded by a sea of glittering silks, his own haori much more open than usual, loose hair fanned all over his exposed shoulders. Okita smiled at you, ruefully but amused at the face you knew you were making.  
“What was all that about?” He gestured towards the door, graciously changing the subject from the throb between your legs and the reasons behind it.

“Ugh, Wakakusa just wants to roast me about the – the promises you guys made to get me here,” you growled, it made Okita laugh out low under his breath.

“Ahahaha, she’s not giving up on the date with Hijikata-san as exchange, I see.” 

“Now way in hell.”

Another awkward silence stretched between the two of you, illuminated only by the flickering candle about to go out. You felt faint, wanted to ask him a dozen things, wanted to topple him back into the futon and pretend this interruption never happened, but the thought in itself was enough to turn your head into hot mush. 

Hiding the hideous face you knew you were making behind your hands you said, “I have to go, Wakakusa will have my head if I tarry too much.”

Okita kept his silence, so you had to just get up and fish out a neatly folded cotton yukata, a much humbler one than the one you wore for work, from your closet. He studied you wrapping it on, tying the knot this time behind your back with a forlorn expression. For once he kept his silence, even if you desperately wanted him to tease you in some mundane sort of way to distract you from the reality the two of you had half accidentally stepped into.

“Wait a bit when I go so no one sees you,” finally you whispered to him. Having checked the situation of you make up, and cringing internally so hard you wanted to scream when you dabbed the smeared lip paint away from your cheek, you had nothing else left to do but go.

You hovered at your shouji, lantern in hand, hot and bothered beyond any mortal endurance.

“I, uh, have to go now, so,” _see you around?_ You wanted to hit yourself, but your tongue refused to cooperate, making you into a stuttering dolt. Okita, to your solace, looked a bit uncomfortable himself, to see him tilted off balance gave you some comfort.

Emboldened, you turned around on your heel and quickly like the masterly spy you were you crossed the distance between the two of you to place one last quick kiss on his lips. You managed to catch him so off guard he didn’t even try to snatch you into his clutches, which was a bittersweet victory, you were sure you would’ve not been able to escape anymore if he had. Fleeing as much from him as from your own desire you wrenched yourself away from him, and out the shouji before you died of embarrassment. The shouji clacked shut behind you with the finality of a prison door ramming shut. It was all too much. This was all too much.

In the cool darkness of the garden you tried your hardest to keep walking calm and placid even when your thoughts were such a roaring inferno you were sure smoke was shooting out of your ears. Okita wanted you, hell, he apparently liked you! And you liked him, and now he knew that! What devilry would that evil man do with that information? Such coherent thoughts were incessantly bombarded with the primal memories of the feel of his lips, his hands, his weight and the irreversible memory of his eager hardness pressing against you, and the dazzling array of implications and dreams it would inevitably spin. How could you ever face him again after all this? A tiny sound of panic escaped from your lips, yet you wanted nothing more.

Around and around your head reeled as you took one faltering step after another towards a room where Wakakusa waited, sake cup in hand and ready to demand her dues. Another sad little whine escaped you, unable to escape this fate this cruel universe had flung at you.

At least you could hope Okita was similarly distressed, alone at his end. Maybe he missed you too, you felt a faint smile try to tug your lips as you stepped into the dark stairwell leading to Wakakusa’s quarters

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far! (ꈍᴗꈍ) As always I am eternally grateful for each kudos and comment you might grace me with, thank you!
> 
> I really hope I’d had had more time to research the life of oiran better for this but life is not really giving me a break these days ;((( I apologise for any mistakes I’ve made in their depiction and if you have some sources for oiran life I’ll love you forever if you share them with me UwU
> 
> Eru is an amazing artist and a dear friend of mine, you can find her Haku fan arts in Tumblr (eruerufupotato), Twitter (PotatoEru) & Instagram (erupotato) ^-^


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